An Audiologist Reviews Silent Courage: A Lived Experience of Hearing Loss

Silent Courage is a unique exploration of the intersection between hearing loss and introversion.

Keith ‘Earman’ Chittleborough

Silent Courage: An Introvert’s Authentic Journey with Hearing Loss is about my lived experience with hearing loss. But I wanted the book to reach beyond my story. After many years, I also wanted to understand the theory and science of hearing—and share that with you.

Reviews are more than opinions; they’re mirrors. When Keith ‘Earman’ Chittleborough reviewed Silent Courage, I saw my book’s strengths and the places where I could grow as a writer.

“But the book also tries to do too much.”

Keith ‘Earman’ Chittleborough

Combining reflection and facts in one book might have been ambitious, but it is the book I needed to write. Writing about hearing loss and introversion became a journey of self-discovery and an exploration of identity I hadn’t expected.

I am grateful that Keith took the time to read my book and share his thoughts. My contribution is the lived experience; his validation as an audiologist lends credibility to this book and my writing as a whole.

Will the general reader care about the invention of vacuum-tube technology—or will they care most about Susan and her ears?

Keith ‘Earman’ Chittleborough

Not everyone will care about vacuum-tube technology. Yet one deaf reviewer on Amazon said she found it fascinating.

I found myself constantly wishing for more of them. But then again, perhaps, true to her introverted nature, Susan chose to share just enough to let the reader quietly connect in their own way.

Keith ‘Earman’ Chittleborough

These intimate reflections were incredibly hard to write. As an introvert, I was anxious about revealing too much. Accustomed to factual writing, I found personal reflection new and often uncomfortable.

This is where the book’s power is most obvious: when story and fact travel together. Using this as a template, a structural reworking incorporating real-world experience to highlight the importance of the technical would make the book not only more emotionally engaging but also improve its intended purpose: education and empowerment.

Keith ‘Earman’ Chittleborough

Since publishing Silent Courage, I’ve grown as a writer and embraced reflective writing more fully. I will expand on my personal experience in a future rework of the book. Still, the book’s core will remain: part factual reference guide with practical strategies and reflection on my lived experience.

Herewith, Keith’s review of Silent Courage, reposted with his permission.

Read Keith’s review. Read Silent Courage. And decide for yourself.

How Do You Hear A Whisper? A Review of: “Silent Courage: An Introvert’s Authentic Journey with Hearing Loss” by Susan van der Walt
by Keith ‘Earman’ Chittleborough (Slightly obsessed with ears👂 & books 📖)
Posted on Linkein on September 15, 2025

---

Silent Courage is a unique exploration of the intersection between hearing loss and introversion.

I wrote that line, and then spent about a month or two in a state of writing paralysis.

Why was—why is—this book so hard for me to review?

On the surface, it seems like another “Guide for People with Hearing Loss by Someone with Hearing Loss.” I’ve read plenty of those. I’m an audiologist; treating hearing loss is my job. I’m also just a little obsessed with the written word. Heck, so obsessed I started a company, Bad Pug Publishing… So, yeah, reviewing a book like Silent Courage should be my bread and butter.

Yet, despite a lifetime of reading, writing, editing and often, over a few wines, ranting about literature dying with the passing of Roth, McCarthy and Pratchett, I’ve never had to “officially” review a book.

And certainly not review a book that touched me in the way this one did.

In the age of social media and in-app purchases, it’s effortless to toss off instant judgments, to dismiss a whole person with a few taps on a phone, to throw out an anonymous something-star rating on a work that cost years of a life. The asymmetry is brutal. The creator bears the weight; the consumer barely feels it.

That’s what paralysed me: the burden of responsibility.

None of this means creators should be spared criticism. Reviews help readers navigate, and they’re a feedback mechanism for creators. But if we, as consumers or reviewers, presume to critique, shouldn’t we also shoulder some effort and care? Because down the barrel of the gun of our review, there is a real person.

In this case, the person is Susan.

I don’t know Susan beyond a few exchanges on LinkedIn and email. But I know her in another, intimate way: she’s a writer. A creator. Not a “professional author” with a machine behind her. She wrote this book largely alone, without the scaffolding that usually surrounds the apogee of our written art—structural editors, line editors, proof-readers, typesetters, the lot.

In one of our emails, I asked her why she went to all this effort, knowing there was likely a tiny audience and little reward, and she said to me:

“I wrote it because I needed to, and I hoped it might reach someone else who needed it too.”

I doubt there’s a better explanation for why anyone writes. It’s an urge—perhaps an irrational one. It’s improbable for a first-time author to be noticed by another human at all, more improbable that they’ll buy the book, and more improbable again that they’ll read it. If this ever happens, it’s a small miracle. I know this because I’ve lived the feeling of filling pages with only the faintest hope that anyone will ever see them—and with an even fainter hope that the words will be any good.

And, despite all statistical probably, Susan achieved this.

Without a doubt, Silent Courage is an impressively detailed resource, unpacking the many layers of hearing loss and rehabilitation, from genetics and medical conditions to hearing tests, hearing aids, and the people who provide these services. And, as someone who works in this field, I can say the information is generally accurate and well-researched.

But the book also tries to do too much. The detail is abundant, at times repetitive, and that slows the prose. It also means the book is longer than it needs to be and less navigable for readers who like to dip in and out of nonfiction as a reference. Will the general reader care about the invention of vacuum-tube technology—or will they care most about Susan and her ears?

That is my frustration. I wanted more of Susan. Whenever she wrote about her life, the book lifted—briefly transcending its intended orthodoxy as a highly detailed “educational guide.” She often signals these personal passages with italics, and my eyes would jump across the page, hungrily, towards them.

She begins my favourite chapter, Chapter 6, with a story about investigating new hearing aid technology, the thrill of possibility, and then the thud of disappointment:

“I left the appointment feeling frustrated. While I understand my audiologist is a professional, I felt dismissed—my questions and concerns were brushed aside without explanation.”

From there she leads into the importance of finding the right hearing-care professional, then broadens into the roles and differences within hearing-care providers. This is where the book’s power is most obvious: when story and fact travel together. Using this as a template, a structural reworking incorporating real-world experience to highlight the importance of the technical would make the book not only more emotionally engaging but also improve its intended purpose: education and empowerment.

To me, Silent Courage is a rough diamond. A question for me as a reviewer and editor is: how much would it cost to cut and polish it into a gem that, potentially, only a modest readership will see? I don’t know the precise figure, but napkin maths suggests at least $5000 in structural editing, line editing and proofing. Most first-time authors sell fewer than 50 copies. If you clear $10 per book, you can calculate the expected loss. It’s just not reasonable for most first-time authors to commit to the level of expenditure required. And so, a writer like Susan pours in thousands of unpaid hours and then steps out—unarmoured—into public with their work.

It truly is a courageous accomplishment.

And, as I said, the book often reaches grandiose heights, where Susan shares her own story, her experiences with hearing loss, hearing aids, and small glimpses into her faith. These personal passages can be surprisingly intimate, and I found myself constantly wishing for more of them. But then again, perhaps, true to her introverted nature, Susan chose to share just enough to let the reader quietly connect in their own way.

When asking Susan whether she had a sales strategy behind the book, she told me she didn’t; instead, that:

“It felt more like a whisper from deep inside that wouldn’t go away.”

Well, Susan made that whisper loud enough for me to hear it.

And it’s a whisper worth hearing.

If you want to hear the whisper too, Silent Courage is available on Amazon

---